As The World Burns
by meatballs in the impala
Summary: AU. With Meteor only a hand's breadth away, Reno finds it a good time to stop and think about what if's and possibilities of what could have been. Reno/Elena.


**status **complete**  
>prompts <strong>russian vodka, _"για να σ' εκδικηθώ"_ by Dimitris Mitropanos, the Meteor fall, _Wolves of Hollow Conviction_**  
><strong>**warnings **language, apocalypse  
><strong>pairings<strong> Reno/Elena  
><strong>disclaimer<strong> I do not own ffvii  
><strong>notice <strong>My attempt at a different Meteor Fall, from Reno's point of view. Elena is not a Turk, but someone from Reno's past. The following fic is hovering between reality and imagination, but I hope that you won't be confused. Blabbering stops _here_.

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><p><strong>AS THE WORLD <em>BURNS <em>**

_"But he will sing 'til everything burns. 'Til everyone screams, burning their lies, burning his dreams."_

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><p>He is twenty four and he hates his life. The world is ending, Meteor is falling, Shinra is finished, he is alone and wasted in his huge apartment and all the hopes in saving the world from the Apocalypse are placed on a terrorist group, Strife and his party.<p>

He doesn't know whether to laugh or cry.

It's somewhere through the third packet of cigarettes and the second bottle of whiskey – because _she_ always told him to quit smoking and _she_ always preferred drinking vodka over the bronze poison that is Jack Daniel's – that his mind is drifting off to another dimension, his head dropped on the darkwood dining table, and he recalls why he has such a large apartment even though he lives alone.

Because _she_ had always dreamed of having a small and cozy house by the coast to live with him and their children – and he just shakes his head at the thought, because the moment he had reached a certain number on his bank account, he purchased the largest apartment on the _entire Plate_ – and everything is grey and dull because _she_ had always loved colors and patterns and flowery tapestries.

And he can't help but wonder why he's being such an asshole to her when she's not even _here,_ but he's too proud – perhaps too _stubborn_ – to admit that he has made far too many mistakes in his short life. Especially regarding _her_.

His eyes are getting heavy and blood red and it's getting difficult to keep his eyelids open through the smoke in the room and the effect of the alcohol in his system. He feels himself lay his head against the wooden surface of the table and he lets his eyelids fall; the last image he sees being the dark sky that's turning a deep shade of red as hours pass.

He's lying unconscious for a while and his mind is racing to the past, the present and all that could have been –_possibilities_. When he opens his eyes, the scenery around him is changed. He can no longer see his grey – _lonely, dull, sad –_apartment and this place looks like a studio, filled with colors and paintings and canvases and flowers, and he instantly knows that _she_ has had a say in the décor. He puts down his paint-brush and, as he stares at the finished portrait of _her_, he knows that he will never be able to imprint all of her in just one painting, even if he was Leonardo da Vinci.

He decides that he's done for the day and makes his way to Costa del Sol's Elementary School. It's about the time she sends the kids home, he muses and picks up the pace, wanting to be there as soon as possible. It's autumn and the leaves are painted dark orange and yellow and they are falling from the trees, but the air is warm still and nothing indicates that winter is only a hand's breadth away.

His hands are in the pockets of his leather jacket and his nimble fingers are toying with the piece of paper in it. He can't wait to show it to her, make the revelation and smother her in his embrace. He is sometimes forgetting to breathe, too caught up in trying to get to her quickly.

He is waiting for a good ten minutes before the bell rings and the school yard is filled with children laughing and running, eager to go home. And then he sees _her_, racing her six-year old students to the gates, where their mothers are waiting. He watches her with a bright smile as the children surround her and he thinks that she could easily pass for a student in the High School. She belongs here, they both know it.

When she finally catches sight of him – a torrent of red amidst the grey – she laughs heartily and holds onto him for dear life. She loves it when he surprises her like this.

The fingertips of his left hand are brushing against the crumbled paper and suddenly his pocket is heavy and he cannot lift the burden no more. He hands her the papers and she takes it hesitantly – it is not seldom that he plays jokes on her. He tries desperately not to laugh as her eyes widen in shock and his mind travels back to when he went to the hospital this morning to get her check-up results, like she asked him to do. He thinks he may has a weak heart because the moment the nurse tells him the news, he faints. And he really hopes she won't do the same, because, even though she's light as a feather, he really isn't in the physical condition to carry _both_ of them home.

But she doesn't faint – proving once again how strong she actually is behind the blonde ponytail and the innocent face – and instead clings onto him like a lifeline and laughs, because that's what she does when she's happy, and she asks him for ice-cream – the ten-year old she is, _uh_– but before he cuts in to scold her, he realizes that he has never been able to deny her anything.

Afternoon finds them strolling around the town with his arm over her shoulder and her own around his waist. He's carrying her bag because _you're not allowed to carry anything heavy,_ and even though _my bag is not heavy at all_, he still does it and they end up arguing in the middle of the street, a common activity of theirs.

There are many things he fears, like the commotion that will occur when she announces to his mother and her father that there is a new life within her, a life they both created – something that never happens – or the changes an infant will bring – they will have to move to a bigger place, make a child's bedroom – or the fact that the relationship between them will change, but as he watches her fidget and stutter in the family dinner, trying to find a way to drop the bomb to the oldies, he knows that he can overcome anything with her by his side.

And just as she grips his hand reassuringly, as if to ensure him that everything _will_be okay, he looks up at her beautiful face to find her smile gone and the fantasy turns into a memory.

The scenery around him is changed once again. They are at her house; he can tell by the blue sofa and the painting of the ocean on the wall – one that he had given her for her birthday a few years back. He can't see her father, so he assumes he's at work. He is always working hard so that his precious daughter has everything she needs. She insists that she is _fine_ as long as he spends enough time at home.

He is eighteen and she is seventeen, barely out of school. She grips his wrist and yells at him, trying to beat some sense into that thick head of his, begging him not to go. Not to leave _her_. He stands still, staring blankly at the person he loves most as his mind is racing to the events that led them there.

It was a spring evening and he was making his way home from the basketball court. He witnessed a murder with his own eyes – a young man was pocketing his weapon as a pool of blood formed around a dead body in an alley. He ran away, trying to get out of the assassin's sight, but he followed. He could feel his heart pounding against his chest and the adrenaline pumping in his veins. A manhunt was in due but, in the end, he was found. Turned out that the assassin was Tseng, second-in-command of the Turks, an elite group of the Shinra Inc., a rank even higher than SOLDIER. Tseng was surprised by his stealthy moves, his spontaneity and his speed. Of course, he was an amateur, but he had potential. It was then that he offered him a job in the Turks.

Her cries and grip on his arm bring him back to reality and he is facing a dilemma – to stay or to go? He wants to stay with her and spend the rest of his life in her arms, but what future can they have here? He wants to go to Midgar and become a Turk, make a name for himself, make money and a better life for both of them.

But she won't follow. She won't give up the sun, the serenity and fresh air of Costa del Sol, her father and friends, to go to Midgar with him, so he can become a Turk and live his dream. The scales do not tip on his favor.

Between sobs, she tells him that he can stay there with her and become an artist – he's got talent, he knows that. But her words fall on deaf ears. For he is too proud – too _stubborn_, perhaps – to stay with her and let the opportunity for a better life – or so he thinks – go down the drain. He wants to cut his ties to the past, get finally rid of his father's shadow and the dreams he knows that can't come true.

But she won't follow.

He makes his decision and leaves, without sparing her another glance, because he knows that if he does, he won't be able to leave. He has to discard her, bury her along with his past and memories and start again, a new life in Midgar. Goodbyes are one of his weakest points and he is partly glad that she doesn't show up to wish him good luck with his new life – his mother's heartbreaking sobs are enough.

Another part of him is sad and wonders if she'll ever forgive him. He wishes for her to get over him – though he secretly hopes she never does, because he knows _he won't_ – and live her life without him. He prays she won't do anything stupid.

The sun is peaking from behind the curtains as he regains consciousness and his brain settles in his head. His mind is fogged with what if's and endless possibilities of what could have been. Had he stayed, had he not opened the door that evening and walked away? Would they be together now? Would there be a baby sleeping peacefully in its crib in a small, cozy house in Costa del Sol, unaware that, in two days' time, the world would come to a close? Would _he_ be cheering for AVALANCHE? Would she be holding him and reminding him of all the things they've been through together?

The alcohol's effect is wearing off and he is sick and tired of _always_ thinking about his life in what if's and possibilities of what could have been. The smell of tobacco lingers in the place as he discards his uniform and puts on casual clothes, washes his face and mouth. He doesn't take his gun and doesn't look back as he leaves the apartment – it's no longer _his_, it has never been – for good and heads off to the Shinra HQ.

He doesn't care anymore as he thinks about Tseng's reaction and psychotic yells when he realizes that the red-haired Turk stole one of the helicopters – security is low nowadays. It might be the end of the world, but Tseng is who he is. Nothing can change him.

As the sun rises, the propellers swing around and the helicopter rises to the sky, and he can't hide his smile anymore as he manoeuvres the lever, immediately setting route for the place where the sun shines brighter, where the sky is still blue and the people are still smiling – Costa del Sol.

The sky might fall on them tomorrow – another possibility. But today, he will beg for reconciliation and a place back in Elena's heart. It's not too late, yet.


End file.
